Scars
by Sardonic Kender Smile
Summary: Pain is inevitable. Getting hurt is a natural part of life. You just keep going...even though sometimes those wounds leave scars. .:A collection of 5 oneshots in several genres, exploring the ways people can be hurt...and healed:.
1. To Learn

_A/N: WHAT am I DOING? I have no time to be creating another fic…but alas, here I am. Well, THIS little plotbunny invaded my head in chemistry class…and wouldn't let go, so there ya have it. This story will be five chapters long, with each chapter revolving around two characters, their relationship (romantic, friendly, or familial), and the painful circumstances to deal with. It's not exactly angsty, though it sounds that way…it reminds me of Reminiscence, actually, but it doesn't have a plot. And, like Reminiscence…I actually PLANNED this story! EGAD! Well…if you decide to read it, I sincerely hope you like it._

_**Chapter One—To Learn**_

Kent strode down a corridor of Castle Caelin, his long steps at their usual brisk pace and his back straight in his usual impeccable posture. He wasn't sure what duty he was supposed to be performing at the moment—training pages, cleaning weapons, or dragging Sain away from the innocent servant girls—but he knew he would be called upon for something soon. He knew that without a doubt.

Quite frankly, there was very little about the castle that Kent _didn't _know. He had lived in Caelin all his life--and had lived in the castle itself since he was just a shy lad of ten years old, when he came to begin his training. It had always been his dream to become a knight of Caelin…and Kent made sure that he was thoroughly knowledgeable in every aspect of such a dream. He knew the stone floor tapping softly against his well-used leather boots, the high vaulted ceiling shrouded in shadow, the blue and red sunlight streaming in through the colored windows to puddle on the flagstones, every delicate sconce and woven tapestry and suit of armor lining the walls…but then, suddenly, he ran across something very unfamiliar to him.

Lyndis was in the hallway, staring out of a clear crystal window. It wasn't that Kent didn't know her as well, of course—indeed, his service at her side had made him her most trusted vassal, next to her childhood friend Florina. No, what really took Kent by surprise was that his lady was _inside._

Lyn was never inside…she still hadn't gotten used to the fact that she was Lady Lyndis of Caelin. Although she had lived in the—well, _her_—castle for months now, in her heart she was still simply Lyn of the Lorca. And Lyn of the Lorca could not stand being cooped up inside Castle Caelin. It was not good for her free spirit, it seemed, and she spent much of her time outdoors.

But now she leaned lightly against the windowsill, staring intently at something in the distance with her emerald eyes. Golden afternoon sunlight silhouetted her, making it look as if she were glowing, and Kent realized—not for the first time…nor the hundredth…nor the thousandth—how very beautiful she was.

He fought such unseemly feelings down, however, as he calmly continued his way towards her. He kept his eyes ahead, as well—it wouldn't do well for him to talk to her, especially not right then, when the sun played upon her features and turned her into some sort of goddess. Yes, talking to Lyndis was _not _what a proper knight would do at that moment. However, as Kent walked by, he could not help but sneak a glance at her, to see if she was alright…

…Unluckily for the cavalier, Lyn had done the same thing at the same time and now Kent's eyes were locked on hers.

He felt his heart flounder for a moment, drowning in those green depths, but managed to regain his composure as Lyn smiled kindly.

"Hello, Kent! How are you doing?"

"Well met, Lady Lyndis." The knight saw her jaw set in irritation at her title, but quickly sank into a low bow so he might "accidentally" not notice. No matter what her preference, protocol demanded that he always—_always!_—treated her as his liege.

_I must never forget how high above me she is, _Kent thought, with a trace of ruefulness, before straightening back up again. Lyn moved over—ever so slightly—which allowed him just enough room to stand beside her and share the window's view. Remembering the manners he had sword to uphold when he was knighted, Kent moved to Lyn's side. Where he should be. Where he always wanted to be…

"What are you doing out and about today?" Lyn asked him with another smile.

"I am just going to wherever I am needed." The knight shrugged slightly. "There seems to be no duty for me today, however…"

Lyn's smile only widened, and it looked as if she was trying hard not to break into an open grin. Finally, taking advantage of his lack of being needed that day, she leaned back against the windowsill and tapped the space beside her. Hesitantly, Kent shifted some of his weight to the sill as well.

"Do you see that?" Lyn asked softly, pointing out the window. Kent squinted, but couldn't make out anything other than the rolling countryside of Caelin.

"N-no…I do not think so, milady…"

"Exactly." The princess smirked. "You might not know this, Kent, but right beyond how far we can see…there is a little hill."

"…A hill," Kent echoed, willing her to continue.

Lyn flipped her ponytail over her shoulder but didn't take her eyes from the window. Kent's eyes, however, had stuck themselves to her hair of their own accord, swept along in a stream of deep green cascading down her back…her voice abruptly brought his gaze back up to her face.

"That's right. It's nothing special, really, but…when I am there…if I stand up as tall as I can, and listen to the wind, and look right at the horizon as if I have the power to look past it…it feels to me as if I can see Sacae again."

"So _that _is where you disappear to so often!" Kent realized suddenly.

Lyn just nodded contentedly. "Yes, that's it…when it's just me and my horse, and the sun, and the wind, and the long grass up on that hill…I feel complete. But when the sun goes down…something comes over me. I feel so _lonely_, by myself in such an open place." Her stare out the window suddenly turned sullen and melancholy. "I…never used to feel that way. I used to always be at peace, when it was just nature and I. I have changed, Kent…"

"I could ride to the hill with you," Kent offered, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. He quickly averted his head to hide his blush, and added, "That is…if that would not be invasive. If you would allow me to."

Lyn touched his arm gently, which forced him to look back at her. "Of course I would allow you to."

Those smiling lips were within easy reach…_far _too close. Kent discretely took a step back, to avoid such a sinful temptation. Lyn didn't seem to notice, and turned her attention back to the window.

"My lady…" Kent ventured quietly, "Forgive my asking, but…what _are _you doing inside today?"

"Ahh…" Lyn sighed and rested her cheek in a gauntleted hand. "Well…you know how badly Grandfather wants me to be a lady. He hasn't said anything about it, but I know he disapproves of me riding out by myself every day. I know he lets me because he loves me…and since I love him in return…I decided that every once in a while I could afford to spend the day in the castle. I know that it would make him very happy."

Kent felt his eyes widen. "It would, indeed. That is…very noble of you, milady."

"Such sacrifices were very normal things back in Sacae." Lyn's eyes misted over. "Elimine…I miss it…"

"You must have been a very special person within the Lorca tribe," Kent said quietly. "Kind, strong…you can even wield a sword!"

"But that's a common custom," Lyn informed him, with a hint of surprise. "All Sacaeans are trained in the ways of the sword or the bow—even the women. You did not know that?"

Kent blinked. "N-no…I did not."

"Well, it's the truth," insisted Lyn with a grin. "There were many girls who learned swordsmanship with me."

"But I'm sure there were none as talented as you." Kent refused to believe that anyone could compete with his lady. "Your skill is remarkable…you fought for so long to get to Caelin, against Lord Lundgren and all his treacherous forces…and though you battled often, you were hardly wounded. You never received one scar."

Kent reached out a hand to touch her bare arm, but quickly drew it back to his side before he could. _Highly improper! What are you THINKING, man?_

The knight's words on his lady, however, produced a surprising reaction: she laughed. Loud and hard and long, Lyndis laughed, until she had to lean back against the stone wall for support. Kent just stared at her in perturbation, wondering just what he had said that was so funny.

"Do you…honestly believe that?" Lyn wheezed out through peals of mirth.

"Believe what, milady?"

"That I've never received a scar!"

Kent allowed his eyes to flicker over her—very briefly, of course—from her face to her arms to her long legs. "I…do not see any, Lady Lyndis."

"That's because you're not looking at the right places." Lyn abruptly snatched off one of her gauntlets and showed her hand to Kent.

He took it to examine it, holding it lightly in his own. It was slim and elegant, but upon it Kent saw what he had never noticed before—little white lines and dots and nicks in the skin, marring its pale and perfect surface. He felt his insides cloud with anger.

"My lady…who would do such a thing to you?"

Lyn laughed again, most likely at his indignation. "Oh Kent…I suppose I could say I did it to myself!"

Kent's eyes flew to hers in confusion. "Pardon?"

Lyn looked out the window once more, her face alight with amusement. "When my father was first teaching me to spar, he tried to tell me all the armor I should wear: never enough to hinder, just enough to protect a bit and leave me able to dodge. One thing he insisted upon was gauntlets…but I did not listen to him. I liked the feel of the hilt under my fingers, and I was a stubborn girl, so I refused to wear them." She shrugged helplessly and smiled. "Well, I sparred with my father often…and the first thing he taught me is that an opponent can attack your hands to make you drop your weapon."

She examined her hands—one of which was still in Kent's own hand—and chuckled softly. "Well, I certainly learned _my _lesson quickly. It hurts to be bitten by a blade! So after that I began to wear proper armor. I could have gone to the tribe healer," she added with a touch of wistfulness, "because she could heal wounds without leaving scars…but I didn't. I wanted these to remain, to remind me next time that there is an easier way to learn lessons." She beamed at Kent, whose heart flipped over for a sickening second.

"So this was your own choice," Kent said softly. Before he realized what he was doing, he lightly ran a fingertip over the back of her hand.

Lyn shivered slightly. "Yes…"

Still holding onto her, Kent sank to his knees before her. "My lady…I swear that as long as I serve you, I will never let something like this mark you again—be it a weapon or a harmless lesson—because you are perfect the way you are." With that, he lowered his lips to her hand.

"K-kent," Lyn said shakily, "Wait, d-don't…"

But she did not take her hand away, so Kent did not stop; moving his lips over her scars until he had kissed every one.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, it's Kent, of COURSE he has to make a long and knightly speech ;-P. Anyway…this seems incredibly sappy. Forgive me, I was up late... The next chapter will be about Eliwood and Hector. _

_Well, please review and let me know what you think!_


	2. To Remember

_A/N: Well THIS one was depressing to write…I suppose a lot of it embodies my own personal philosophies, things I learned very early in life: that painful things never just disappear—they must fade first; and that nothing lasts forever. Usually in my writing I try to get my points across loud and clear, exploring everything, but in this chapter—though I do make my point, I should hope—there is a lot of it I leave for you to analyze yourself (I simply love stories like that!). _

_Focal Characters: _Hector, Eliwood

_Relationship: _Friendly

_Genre:_ Angst, rather philosophic

_**Chapter Two—To Remember**_

"It looks like I was right after all," said Eliwood, trying to hold back a slightly bitter smile. "Fourteen to twelve."

"Nonsense." Hector glared at his friend. "You didn't count right."

"Did _you _just say that to _me_?" the marquess asked with an eyebrow raised. Hector glowered for a moment longer before turning away, tugging at his beard irritably. The argument was so familiar.

The two men were standing on the outskirts of a forest, deep inside the grounds of Castle Ostia. With legs that somehow still remembered where to carry them, and minds muddled deep inside what felt like an old dream, they had wandered off the polished stone pathway that lead to the Castle, over the lush grass of the enormous gardens, past the dirt training arenas that Ostia's knights sparred in—which Eliwood and Hector had also practiced in, many times—and down to the forest at the edge of the grounds. Above them, sprawling against the sky in a myriad of ancient and gnarled branches, was a gigantic tree. But Eliwood and Hector weren't concentrating on its height…they were staring at the slashes gouged into its thick, solid trunk. Although the wind whispered through the grass and birds chirped here and there, it all seemed unbearably quiet to Hector.

"I'm glad we came alone," said Eliwood in a low voice, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Hector agreed. He thought back to a few minutes ago.

_"Do you think it's time to settle the score?" Eliwood had asked with a small smile. _

_Hector grinned in return, feeling his old competitive blood come rushing back to him. "Of course. But…" His cheerful mood suddenly dissipated. "It…might scare the children."_

_"What's scary, father?" his daughter had asked, staring up at him with her wide, bright eyes. _

_"I'm not afraid!" Eliwood's son protested, lifting up his wooden sword. Eliwood smiled at the boy. _

_"Now now, Roy…I think you and Lilina would be much happier fighting that monster I saw over behind that tapestry." Eliwood pointed, feigning fear, and Roy gleefully grabbed Lilina's hand and charged away. Hector smiled to hear his daughter's laughter, and turned to the door._

_"Wait…" Eliwood said suddenly. "Hector, why would our children find our old scores frightening? They're just numbers carved into a tree—nothing that could scare or hurt them." He raised an eyebrow as he glanced towards his son, who was busy pummeling the poor tapestry with his toy sword as Lilina pretended to be captured by the curtains of the window two feet over. "And those two will probably hurt themselves if we leave them alone."_

_Hector chuckled. "Oswin's right there, see? He's got them under control." He waved to the general down the hall, and returned his attention to Eliwood once he received a salute. "And…I don't know, Eliwood, I just don't want the children to see this. It was so long ago…so many memories…"_

_"I understand."_

So there they were, standing beneath that enormous tree. Hector studied the trunk, counting the marks in it once again—one slash in the tree for every battle won. It was their tally, their record of all the spars they had fought as children. There were twelve marks under the rough "H" hacked into the tree, fourteen under the more cleanly carved "E", and four off to the side, which were the draws—those excruciatingly long battles that neither Hector nor Eliwood had given an inch in.

_Blast, he won more than me after all…_

Hector looked over to see that his friend was studying the marks as well—but not with a look of triumph. It was actually a rather sad look, empty and melancholy.

"Something the matter?" Hector asked.

"…We were hurting that tree," Eliwood said softly.

"What?" Marquess Ostia gave a start and turned to face the tree again. "What are you talking about? We made some nicks in the bark, that's all."

"No, look." Eliwood gently reached out and ran his fingertips lightly over the cuts in the trunk. "They're still here, Hector. As deep as ever. And over the years this tree has grown and grown…but the marks have never faded…"

"So what's your point?" Hector didn't quite understand what his oldest friend was getting at.

"Don't you see? _We _did this to it, Hector. It's lived for so long with these wounds…and it will have them for the rest of its life. They will not heal, they will not go away. Does that not…sadden you? That we have cut into it so deeply that those marks will never fade? That our children will live to see them, and their children as well?"

"That is a bit creepy," Hector admitted, "but…it's just a tree. I don't see why you're so worked up about it."

"I feel like we stole something from it." Eliwood guiltily dropped his gaze from the tree trunk to the grassy ground. "It could have grown up whole and healthy, if not for us. I know we were young, and didn't think ahead before we acted…on _anything_..." The redhead chuckled softly. "Still…it is as if we have crippled it. There is something _wrong _with it now."

Hector settled his hands on his hips and leaned his head backwards, looking up at the network of branches winding against the blue sky. "So should I cut it down?"

"NO!"

Eliwood flung himself at Hector, who had not suspected such an outburst and almost toppled over. But he managed to regain his bearings and instead of falling, stared at Eliwood. The marquess of Pherae had a handful of Hector's silk shirt in his fist, and was looking up at him with those blue eyes—still as bright and determined as they had been fifteen years ago.

"Hector, you _can't._"

"Why not?" Hector glanced back at the tree. "You're the one who said something was wrong with it, after all. If it has to live out the rest of its life scarred and suffering and all that, why not just end it all? Why not cut it down?"

Eliwood's grip on Hector only tightened in response to that, however. He fixed his eyes on his friend's as he spoke, his voice frighteningly quiet and solemn.

"If you kill that tree…you will have to kill us too."

Hector froze and stared at Eliwood, who also seemed unable to move. _Have…have we, too, been so wounded? _The two looked at each other, stuck inside the moment, for a long time. Finally Hector noticed that Eliwood's eyes were glittering, and felt his own eyes sting as well.

"So…" he said gruffly, pulling away from his friend's grasp and blinking rapidly, "We're still seventeen…"

"I still have nightmares, Hector," Eliwood confessed in a whisper. "Even after all this time…I dream of Ephidel, of Nergal…"

"Me…me too." The words spilled out of his mouth before Hector had the chance to stop them. "In my memory, it's hard to see the glory and salvation the bards sing about…I can only see fire, and blood…so much blood…"

"Hector, do you realize how much pain we caused?" Eliwood was clutching his own shirt now, as if trying to hold his heart. "Everyone we killed in that war…we hurt them, their comrades, their wives and their children…we left our mark on the world, and it is one that will hurt it for as long as history exists…" The redhead paused, then touched the old and gnarled tree again. "And on top of all that…we are a _part _of it. We have seen losses and injuries and horrors beyond anything anyone could imagine. We have been scarred as well."

"Shut up," Hector ordered softly. He wasn't trying to be cruel, but rather had always spoken so abruptly. Eliwood was used to it, and understood, so quickly fell silent. Hector just closed his eyes and placed a hand on the tree as well.

_Yes, we caused the wounds…it's so ironic, isn't it, that in the end we would be wounded in turn? Now we have cuts that refuse to heal…deeper than flesh and bone…within that quintessence that Nergal wanted so, we have been tainted…_

"Why did we choose this tree?" Marquess Ostia muttered finally. "We could have kept our score on anything…"

"Maybe back then…we could sense that someday…it would be just like us," mused Eliwood.

Hector stared back up at the tree. It was just unfathomable to him that those nicks would remain for all eternity. If there was one thing that the war had taught him, it was that the wheels of fate would always turn. Perhaps one could reverse their direction—but a mere mortal could never stop them. Time passes, time goes on. That was the pure and simple fact of life, and nothing—not morphs, not dragons, not magic, _nothing_—could dispute that. Life flows along, uninterrupted. And change…change was inevitable. None could stop it, as well…and that was why nothing remained the same.

_Our happy childhood was destroyed, and we had to become men so quickly…we were never the same, after the war. To think, it's been fifteen years since I have last seen Eliwood…? And still, after all this time, we are haunted by our pasts and afraid of our futures? That simply can't continue for all time…it can't…_

"It can't." Hector had blurted out the words before he realized it.

Eliwood, who had been gazing unseeingly at the tree, suddenly blinked and turned to face the bearded man. "What can't, Hector? What are you talking about?"

"This _can't _be how we will always live our lives!" Hector repeated forcefully. "I still dwell on the past, yes, but not as much as I did five years ago, or ten! Not as much as I did once the war had ended, when hardly an hour went by that I didn't remember what had happened! Eliwood, _nothing _lasts forever. Mountains crumble, mighty empires dissolve, the tides of the oceans recede…no wound, not even the remembrance of it, can exist for so long. You know how life is as well as I do—there are good times and bad, and they take turns. Everything _changes. _That tree…" Hector broke off and jabbed his finger in the direction of its etched trunk. "Sure, it has some marks on it…but it's still alive, isn't it? It's still growing, and at the rate of any other tree! I don't think it hurts as much as it used to. And someday, decades from now, wind and rain will wear those cuts away, and no one will ever know that this old tree used to be our scorekeeper. Perhaps even it itself will forget."

Eliwood stared at the tree a moment longer, tipping his head back to survey its network of branches. His eyes began to shine again, with an emotion—perhaps relief?—that Hector found hard to name…and as a gentle breeze picked up, ruffling his crimson hair, he closed those eyes peacefully.

"It'll heal," Hector said softly, reassuringly, perhaps for his own benefit as much as Eliwood's.

"Yes, it will heal," Marquess Pherae echoed in a whisper. "And…so will we."


End file.
